Citadel
by Ash Gray Kitsune
Summary: *spoilers for Brotherhood* The Wall of Briggs cannot fall...or so everyone thought...
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters.**

Citadel

Olivier Mira Armstrong stifled a growl as she peered through her binoculars. Damn them...damn those filthy bastards for daring to encroach upon her citadel once more. It wasn't even spring yet, and they were already marching through the worse of the snow. They hadn't the men, and barely the firepower, to keep half of the number below back; the full army would annihilate them, given the opportunity. However...she had other matters, nearly as pressing, to worry about as well. For one thing...that bastard, Christaan. He was nowhere to be found, and the Major General could imagine just the mayhem the worthless Drachman ambassador was likely trying to cause. Her second-in-command, Major Anthony Miles, was working hard to find him, but she'd given him an order to withdraw an hour ago; he still had not answered her call. On top of all of that, there was a storm building over Briggs itself, and nature had long since dictated matters up in the North; she was the only one Olivier truly bowed to.

"Captain Buccaneer."

"Sir!"

"Get the men under cover. The storm's getting ready to roar, and no one needs to get frostbite in a whiteout."

"Sir. You heard the Major General, men! Get yer tails inside, on the double!" His booming voice faded as he led the troops away, and she had to smile, just a bit. Buccaneer, once upon a time, would have led a coup to displace her rather than see a woman over him. However...when he'd been in Ishval, and a stray round of alchemic power hit, he'd been injured trying to save three young Ishvalen girls, losing his arm in the process. And when the army wouldn't pay for his automail, due to his..._dishonorable_ actions, she had loaned him the money after hearing of his case, under the condition that he serve as her Captain. It was a higher rank than he'd had before, and he took it, first out of gratitude...now, he remained in that position because he knew that she could find more uses for a lower-leveled military man, and consequently, trust him with far, far more than many other men in the State Army. He knew that she trusted him with her life; in return, he trusted her with his honor. As he disappeared down the stair leading to their inner citadel, she stood carefully, drawing her fur coat tight around her body as she gazed out over the expanse of one _small_ portion of the Drachman army.

"Damn them..." She whispered, anger pulsing through her veins. She couldn't count the many campaigns mounted against Briggs; easily ten or more each year, save only for the first beginning years of Amestris. Almost five hundred years of constant, draining attacks, led by commanders hellbent for the conquest of the lands stolen from right beneath their noses by one of their own lordlings, or so the tales went. Olivier had spent nearly fifteen years at this post, from the days of her training, to the present day. There was nothing that she did not know about Briggs, Northern Command, or the surrounding fifty kilometers...and that included the lands so often drenched in blood by the Drachman armies. She felt blessed that she'd lost a handful of personnel over the years; no more than ten, and most of those loner-types with few or no family members. The one man she had lost was the only Colonel she'd had, and the agony she had felt over the letter to his beloved wife and children had kept her awake for months afterwards. In the end, she'd laid the blame right where it belonged; on Drachma's inane commanders, and the five Emperors.

Ever since she'd taken command, they'd made extra special efforts to conquer Briggs, and Olivier knew why, though the idea still made her shudder and want to scream. Avalin Christaan had been quite forward in his reasons for the five Emperors' change in heart in regards to Amestris' supposed 'thievery'; the five leaders wanted alchemy, and at least three of them wanted Amestrisian wives to cement the incredibly binding treaty. And she was one of their prime candidates. It was sickening to read the 'appeals' to her 'feminine senses'; she would have rather married Mustang than be courted by one of those old fools. Olivier had been surprised, though, by the sanctions that they'd placed upon themselves, but it didn't mean that they'd keep to their bargains; Drachma could, and had, broken treaties before when a country didn't conform to precisely their ideals. And judging from what the Major General knew of her country, despite the fact that she had not been able to leave Briggs or Northern for more than a week at Eastern Command's training grounds, she doubted that Amestris would partake of a country-wide religion holifying the Emperors, nor would they agree to the strict laws, curfew...

"Major General!" She spun at the sound of his voice, her deep anger forgotten as a spark of joy burst within her. Miles came running up, his glasses gone, red eyes urgent and demanding, sliding just a little on the patch or two of ice around. "Forgive me, Major, I didn't hear your summons until I'd made my way back up and out of the pipeworks. Christaan is gone, wherever he is, though he did not take anything of significant importance with him-" She stopped him with a hand, and started walking towards the stairs, waving for him to join. It was nothing more than she had anticipated, and truth be told, she was a little bit more than relieved that the bastard had seen her soldiers' cold reception as the thin tolerance that it was. In any case, she had a warm sitting room and paperwork awaiting her, with the _not_ unwelcome company of her Major.

"I am merely glad that he did not take you out." She replied, voice holding a touch of emotion as she kept her back to him, so that he could not see her eyes. "And you will not be reprimanded; it's no one's fault that the pipeworks are so loud. Now, let us get inside while we can, for the winter winds are about to crash down on those bastards below us-" Her words were cut off with a sharp gasp, and Olivier looked down to see a spear point protruding from between her left collarbones, dark blood misting in the rapidly cooling air before her. Suddenly, the point snapped out into a grappling hook, and with a sudden jerk, she was yanked clean off of the Fort's top, body being swiftly born on the massive steel rope secured to the hook's head. Miles watched in stunned horror, before his body reacted to the attack, and with nothing more than a grunt, he flung himself over the edge, folding his long limbs back so that he sped down the wall all the faster.

If he could reach her...his knife was out and ready from the sheathe on his arm, though it would do little good on the rope; at least it was a weapon. She hadn't passed into the stage of shock; that much he could tell from just glancing at her, but he didn't have long before she did, and as droplets of her blood fell slower than she did, they hit his face and shoulders like a crimson rain. She was falling faster now, and the ground was rushing up at them with a terrifying speed. Even with the twenty or so feet of snow from the past winter, it was enough of a fall to kill, easily, either or both of them if he wasn't careful...Indeed, there wasn't much to do about the fall, but at least their deaths would be swift...until Miles realized that she wasn't falling, so much as being pulled. He had caught up with her now, latching himself to her boots, and glancing down the rope, he realized that before they even touched the snow, she was to be hoisted into one of the tallest, and strongest of the fir trees. So, being her soldier, he smiled grimly, twining his arms and legs around her before setting to work on the head of the hook with his knife to break the small hinged components, hoping to sever the connection.

"Major General!" He snarled, most of his voice lost in the screaming wind. "Olivier, wake up! You didn't get this far being a stubborn bitch just to die at the hands of some Drachman dog, did you? Olivier! Olivier!"

_"-vier!"_

_All this gray fog...what happened? Was she dead? She felt limp...and she couldn't move even a finger. It just seemed easier to close her eyes, and let the world go..._

"_Olivier!" Who's name was that? It was strange...pretty, but strange...and the voice...she knew that voice, though she couldn't say how. He was familiar...but not enough to keep her attention. She let her eyes slide shut, welcoming the darkness beyond blonde eyelashes, welcomed the dying sensation, and the oblivion promised when she stopped fighting the inevitable..._ When pain, bright, white-hot screaming pain, seared through her very nerves and woke her with a scream, half rage, half agony as she tried to claw at her shoulder, to wrench that terrible thing out, to free it from the ruined mess of her broken collarbones. A shout and a hand stopped her, and Olivier's eyes finally focused on the man holding her tight, his free hand holding onto the rope so that her weight would not cause anymore broken bones or damage to her shoulder. Miles held her tightly, his body supporting hers far more than she could have believed, and while he did all of that, he was breaking the hooks holding the spearhead into her body. Only one remained, and as he split it, the rope whipped away into the trees, tearing out of Olivier's back like a snapped wire, forcing another scream out of her.

They were much closer to the ground, and a little slower, but only enough that Miles could land and tumble without too much injury to either of them. He braced himself and wrapped all of his Major General into a ball, before curling around her and slamming into the soft-packed snow, spinning head over heels for several minutes before he managed to brace their stop with one boot and the harder packed snow of an old trail. The army, of course, had seen the whole damned fiasco, and was even now bearing down on them both. He staggered up, dizzy and almost unable to walk before he noticed the first of the runners, then snatched her up in his arms and fled through the trees, to the mountains themselves. As he sprinted across the frozen snow, whipping up even more now as the storm truly began to bear down with all the vengeance of a late winter whiteout, he blessed Olivier for forcing each and every man to learn deep winter survival techniques, and to scout the areas on both sides of the Fort. There was a series of caves near here, deep and shadowy, filled with fresh water and cold stores from the fall and summer seasons...And with any luck, the key to their further survival out of the hands of the advancing army.

Drachma didn't know about these forays during the warmer months of the year, of course, and what they didn't know would keep both of them alive just a little longer. In fact...the storm seemed to be a bigger boon than they all had first thought, for when Miles dared a glance back, the snow had started in earnest, and the men from Drachma's army were fleeing back to their fortified camp. He sent up a private prayer to Ishvala; _Oh Lord, keep us safe and hale, and let us find our way back home..._And hoped, against all hope, that he could remember the way through the labyrinth inside.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I wish I owned Full Metal.**

Citadel

He did, and with a sigh of relief, dragged his weary body and her unconscious one out of the blizzard. The cold was bone-chilling...but here, out of the wind, he felt a little warmth begin to return as he trudged past the first of the alarm systems. He paused to disable, then reenable it, and carried on, mind waking up as he fought to keep the maze of rights, lefts, straights and curves in the proper order. He came across three more alarms, all rigged to be rather fatal if the idiot in question didn't know what to look for. Miles, however, had created at least one of the damned things, and after the fourth, he found the particular set of rooms that they had created way back in the summer, when the Drachman army was safely ensconced in their main city for the mandatory festivals of the Emperors.

The first of the rooms was a watch-room, an enormous firepit in the middle. All around this pit were blankets, rugs, pillows, and thermal bags, neatly stacked, piled, or arranged to be out of the way until needed by sentries or any doctors with one too many patients. He set Olivier down on one of the rug piles, and set about building a fire. As he glanced up at the opening that served as ventilation shaft, he smiled just a bit, and with one of the longer pokers, managed to dislodge most of the litter that had accumulated. It provided perfect tender, and after stacking logs from the dry stand outside that room, he soon had a blaze going. He then laid out a bed, made of six or seven rugs piled beneath several blankets and two thermal sleeping bags, before picking Olivier up again and settling her in the bed. He stripped off her bloodied coat, jacket, and long-sleeved, high-necked black shirt without a single thought, pulling off the crimson ruins of her white lace brassier carefully, as one of the straps had stuck in her wound.

Leaving her bare-chested for only a moment, he scoured the room for the large emergency kit, suddenly thankful that she had insisted on so many seemingly useless things. He would need the bone-splinting kit right then and there, and a special pack to help grow ruined flesh over particularly large wounds...but at the moment, her bones were priority. Dashing back, Miles began the careful, dangerous, terrifying task of setting the slender bones, wrapping them with surgical wire where he could before cleaning and stitching what flesh he could back over the gleaming white bones. He formed the plaster pack around her entire left shoulder, taking care to make sure that her shoulder blade was stabilized, carefully tying her arm out of the way as he held her close to the fire. His arms were bloodied up to the elbow, hands still shaking slightly from the shock and cold, and finally he sat back, his work finally complete. She would be left with a nasty scar, and Miles could only vaguely guess as to how deep the damage to her swordsmanship would go. Few knew that she had taught herself to wield the sword with either hand, and this would surely place a painful reminder that she would be forever handicapped...Only his willpower kept him from stumbling away to vomit up every memory of food...He had given her the antibiotics, then, when the collarbone and shoulder splint was done drying, given her the painkillers. He had done what he could; she was in the hands of Ishvala now.

With a soft, pained groan that brought a flurry of quiet steps, Olivier Mira Armstrong opened her eyes to see Miles appear, wine-red eyes questioning and almost a little scared, his hair down and damp, button-up shirt hanging open and loose. He was wearing a pair of pants a little too big for him; they hung off his hips. She stared for a moment, before a lance of pain shot through her body and abruptly cursed as she tried to lean on her injured arm.

"Sonuva-!"

"Don't move, Major, that's what I'm here for." Came that deep, warm voice, and two arms wrapped gently around her torso, easing her upright against the thick pillows. Her good arm went around his neck as he moved her, and she'd clenched her teeth from the pain throbbing through her body. She was lost for a little while in the agony, before she realized that her arm was in a sling, and a hypodermic needle was drawing away, having deposited it's dosage of powerful painkiller without her noticing. The pain ebbed away, and she took a breath, not deep, but at least steady, and entirely her own. She turned those pain-filled eyes on him, fingers tightly clasping his shoulder.

"I...don't entirely know what happened...and I..." She looked around the cave, and her eyes widened in recognition. "We're in the caves!"

"Yes sir. When you were pulled off the Fort...well...I believe 'dove' matches my pose perfectly. I caught up to you, and managed to break the spearhead soon enough that we could land with minimal injury...but they were already following. Blessed Ishvala seemed to make this snowstorm come early; we made it here just as it went into a full white out. I got us deep enough inside and got your shoulder fixed before I went back and made sure that there were no blood stains or puddles left in the caves proper; He knows that we can't afford the attentions of their trackers. Then, while you slept, I found our water supplies and started heating some by the fire. Then, because I felt so grimy, I washed both our uniforms and mended yours as best I could." He sat back on his heels and sighed, rubbing his palms into his eyes. "And before you ask...we're snowed in." Her hand had slipped off of his shoulder, and he waited for the inevitable anger at the Drachmans, at himself, and at herself for being so weak, in her own opinion...none was forthcoming.

He slowly looked up, and was astonished to see her _picking_ at the blanket that still barely covered her breasts; her hair was down around her face, so he couldn't see her expression. But her body language was plain to read, even to the densest of men, and Miles felt a sad little smile touch his face. She was hurt, and forced to rely on him...and at the same time, he had an idea as to just how she felt about him. And that hurt too, for she was supposed to be the Impenetrable Wall of Briggs, standing fast until the end of time. And to topple from all of that...she was falling for a subordinate. He hid a slight chuckle; of course, he could be completely wrong, but the one thing Olivier never could hide was her eyes. One glance into those deep blue orbs, and he could read everything that was on her mind.

Granted, he was the only who could do it; Buccaneer was as dense as most of the Generals. However...now wasn't the time to pick apart minds and emotions. He needed her guidance, and her strength, for while he knew quite a bit about winter survival, she _had_ survived it, some fifteen years ago, when she was a simple private. He settled himself cross-legged before her and gently touched her uninjured shoulder, drawing her attention slightly before he spoke.

"Major General...while I am undoubtedly good at knowing what to do in an event such as this for the first few hours, I am rather amiss in knowing what else I must do. What are your orders, Sir?" She finally raised her eyes to his, and while they swirled with confusion and far-off pain, he could see the reaction to her title pushing those back, strengthening her resolve. She sat up, eyes growing distant as she recalled back to the summer before last, when one of her aides had fallen into this very room from above, and after getting his wits back about him, had happily explored at his then Brigadier General's behest. Her eyes came back with orders, and he automatically straightened up.

"First, check our supplies. Some of it will have fallen victim to pests and the elements; I want to know to the hour of what we have, and how long we will have to remain before we must leave. Second, when the storm is over, and night has fallen, I want you to go out for more wood that we can dry here by the fire, and for anything that might be used to add to the traps. Third, when I can walk again without toppling on my face, I want us to explore deeper. There was a rumor when I first started using these caves that they might well go through to the other side; if that is the case, then we will use that to our advantage, and block up the other side when we're through." She paused, thinking hard for a moment, then sighed and leaned back against the pillows, pulling her long hair back with her good hand. "I cannot think of anything else; just be wary of those bastards, Miles. If you die, I will not stand a chance alone."


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I no own FMA.**

Citadel

"Fullmetal, I'm aware that your philanthropic tendencies often make it difficult for you to turn the other cheek, but did you _have_ to empty out your entire research budget in _two days_ to do so?" Colonel Roy Mustang snapped, throwing the small stack of files down with disgust. To his credit, at least, Edward was actually looking incredibly guilty, and unhappy with his choices. Roy sighed, and rubbed his eyes, trying to remember what life was like before all the paperwork. "I'm sorry I snapped at you, Elric. Just...you're going to have to lay low for the next year, unless you take missions; I cannot extend your budget anymore, and after this? I'll be lucky if I can wrangle you half of that for the next year." His eyes were closed, so he couldn't see the teen's reaction, if any, but the apology threw him completely off.

"I know, Mustang...I'm sorry. I...wouldn't have been so irresponsible, but the town would have gone under...and, well...Al and I have a lot of friends there; we couldn't see one jerk's stupidity ruin so many lives." Roy's eyes opened at that, and he stared at the young man for a long while. Edward had a large swath of bandages around his former good shoulder, and his automail looked dented and dinged up. Dark circles and heavy bags shaded his normally bright gold eyes, and Roy had to concede to a halfway defeat. He chuckled faintly, his eyes softening just a little at the way Edward slumped. His hands were deep in his pockets, head down, his braid over one shoulder, while one foot scuffed lightly on the floorboards before him. The Colonel leaned back, looking for a few choice pieces of paper, wrote out a few amounts, signed them, then passed them over to the teen.

"What's this...?"

"Your budget for the time being. These are waivers for my bank to give you the money directly, so that you and Alphonse can stay at one of the hotels for now, and get some food, and any repairs you might need."

"But, where's the money coming from? I thought you said-"

"It's from my personal savings, Fullmetal." Edward gaped, then studied the papers, eyes growing large at just how much his boss was giving him. He stared up at Roy, and the older man smiled, resting his head in one palm. "Don't tell me I can't do this. I've done it for Havoc, and for a few others; however, they were significantly more selfish in what they did to lose their money. You need food and shelter, and you have earned that, and more. And don't tell me that it's not my place; you are my subordinate. It's my job to take care of you, shortstuff." Edward stared at him for a little bit longer, before a small smile touched his face, lighting up his eyes. He couldn't even get mad at the name-calling; he was just too relieved.

"Thanks, Colonel Bastard."

"You're welcome, Fullmetal. Now, go get yourself taken care of; I've got paperwork to do." The teen grinned and saluted, grabbing up his coat as he strode out, his voice already calling to his younger brother. As the boys and his men talked rather excitedly about their last mission, Roy set himself to his paperwork, smiling despite the endless stack of forms. The supply department would have his head for allowing Edward that much money; they already seemed to want Ed fired in regards to this current crisis. However, before he could get drawn into the routine of read, sign, file, slender, strong fingers touched his shoulder, and as he leaned back, he felt the soft warmth of a woman's chest against the back of his head.

"Hello, Hawkeye."

"Hello, sir. So, you gave Edward an allowance of sorts?"

"More or less. I just didn't want to see the kid any more upset than he was. Besides...they had a good reason, and they didn't go _over_budget. And on top of that, they helped turn the town into a thriving trade village; so all in all, I felt that they earned a little help with their personal expenses." He could feel her smiling lightly, and one strong hand tipped his head back, cupping his chin as she pressed a kiss to his lips.

"Good. I would have had them stay with me if they hadn't a place to live."

"As would I, Riza. I think they'll be fine, though; they're smart boys, and knowing them both, Edward will likely be researching for a few weeks while he can."

"So you are going to send them up North?"

"I don't know for sure, yet. I want to, given what I've been hearing about Scar, and yet, I don't, due to the increasing attacks from Drachma. The Major General will not approve of two youngsters running around while she's fighting; and even though Ed and Al both can fight, they've only done it one on one, and haven't faced an actual army before. Even with their power and genius, I'd be worried, excuse the pun, of them freezing up at Fort Briggs." She nodded and let him draw her into his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck as she kissed him again.

"And besides all of that bureaucratic crap, he'll need his cold-weather automail-"

"So Winry must be called. Yes, I know; I let her grandmother in on things last week when the boys were due back." He nuzzled her neck and sighed, wrapping a little tighter around her. She returned the embrace, one hand stroking through his hair gently. He savored those moments with her; it was rare for Riza to outwardly offer herself up for public affection, and while Roy didn't agree with it on principle, he would never violate her one rule in their relationship. After all, while his own superiors would likely just laugh and envy the Colonel his flings with beautiful women, they wouldn't hesitate to stamp out a strong, thriving relationship like theirs, especially when both partners were so dangerous. Lieutenant Colonel Hawkeye still held the all-time sniper score of any gunman in the State Army, and Colonel Mustang was, after all, the Flame Alchemist...but he still cherished the feel of her in his arms, her warm brown eyes letting a few moments of paperwork slide by.

"How did I get so lucky, Hawkeye?" He murmured, kissing her forehead. He felt her smile gently, and her fingers migrated down to touch his face as she pulled back to look into his eyes.

"A long series of events that would be an utter waste of time to talk about, since we both figure prominently in so many of them and while you would enjoy reminiscing over them all one by one, you have a great deal of paperwork to do, Colonel." He mock-sighed in defeat and threw his hands up, letting her settle her feet back on the floor.

"Yes, yes, I suppose I must, Lieutenant Colonel..." As he settled back into his 'signing pose', though, he caught her hand and pulled her down for one last kiss, this one a little deeper and infinitely more teasing than the little ones they'd been sharing. She melted a little against him, and he smiled roguishly. "Care to meet me downtown tonight, Hawkeye?" He murmured huskily, and was rewarded with her faint blush and soft smile. She only nodded, and as she turned to her paperwork once more, he relaxed, mind already thinking beyond dinner and drinks...And suddenly, the papers that cluttered his desk seemed so much more important to finish!

Olivier's eyes opened slowly, and she let her body remain still for a moment; if she jerked again, she risked dislocating the slowly knitting bones, and one trial of _that_ had made her vomit, then pass out cold. And she couldn't be wasting any more food, or painkillers; only half of their stores had survived the past year down in the caves, and of that, half was nearing spoilage already. They had roughly enough food for a month, if both of them ate only one meal, and while they had a continuous water supply, Miles had discovered that something was leaking into the water; in less than that time, they would have to melt snow. Her only saving grace was that she had packed enough weaponry and ammunition to last six months or more; the Major had already made good use of the heavy compound bow and javelin in taking down a deer to help supplement their meager diet.

She carefully turned her head to the right, and resisted the urge to touch the man lying next to her, fast asleep. Miles had taken the outside of the 'nest' he'd made up, to keep her as warm as possible and to act as a guard should something occur while they slept. He slept on, face peaceful as a child's, his blankets tangled around him in such a way that she wanted to laugh at the sight. But Olivier only allowed herself a tiny smile, and pulled her own blanket back up over her chest, eyes lost on the ceiling above. Her mind, ever planning, ever thinking, was no different now, and she wondered just how long it would be until Briggs sent for help. Not to find them; she'd taught them that should anything happen to the commanding officers, send for Central. If something happened, she contended, then it wasn't worth waiting longer than two weeks before asking for aid from the Fuhrer.

Two weeks...It had been, or so Miles surmised, about four days since the attack, and as far as he could tell from his foray last night, Briggs was showing no sign that they were missing their commander. Of course, that was how it was supposed to be, and she blessed whatever gods had given her the time and energy to train her men so well. They would know, of course, from the blood frozen up on the keep's top, that something had happened, and as such, would either count her dead or captured. Knowing them, however...she didn't doubt that Buccaneer would be searching for her, sending out small crews to poke and prod the caves, leaving this particular one for last, since it was their safety mechanism against such attacks. It might be another two weeks before they were rescued...and she wondered what might happen in that time.

**It's...lacking something, I think. Any suggestions?**


End file.
